


The Wedding Killer

by maryforyou



Category: Adam Driver - Fandom, BlacKkKlansman (2018), Flip Zimmerman - Fandom
Genre: Death, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Serial Killers, Sexual Tension, Violence, crime investigation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryforyou/pseuds/maryforyou
Summary: Tensions are high in the small town of Colorado Springs, the term “serial killer” had just begun to take significance in the habitants’ heads. No woman felt safe, fearing of becoming the subject of a maniac’s twisted desires. The main detective of the investigation, Flip Zimmerman, is scraping the ground for leads, anything that might stop the madness surrounding them. He meets you, you meet him.You.The next potential target.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Kudos: 18





	1. 1

There is a ritual of passage for every woman. That one night that makes them realize how hard dating really is, that makes them aware that nice, loving and special men are very scarce. She meets someone, maybe they exchange phones, she convinces herself that she is a girl with initiative and gives him a call. They set up a date and he tells her to pick the restaurant herself, that he is fine with whatever decision. He has been nothing but cordial and she want to impress him, so she dresses up in her best clothes and spends hours on her hair. When he picks her up, he only says “You look nice”.

They get to the restaurant and they talk. She asks him about his hobbies and he only says one thing, something simple she can’t really work more conversation into. She asks him about his family, and he tells them he only sees them on holidays. She talks about herself without him asking her anything, just to fill the silence, and he looks at her while she speaks, maybe even chuckles a bit when she cracks a joke.

He pays the bill and drives her home, and she lingers more than normal at the porch. He gets the hint and leans for a kiss, his lips are soft and pleasant, he is actually a good kisser. There are no sparks.

She enters the home and sighs. An air of defeat covers her. The boxes of a “perfect date” were checked, but above all the formalities, she can’t help but think he didn’t care. Didn’t really care when she told him about the family dog that had died recently, didn’t care that she spoke three languages, didn’t care what she did for a living, and most importantly, didn’t care if he saw her again. He told her he’ll give her a call, but by now, she knows better than to think that’s true.

And Flip Zimmerman was one of those guys, one that just didn’t care.

It wasn’t just the dating, the trait had spread to all aspects of his life. When he joined the police force he was not full of that self-righteous attitude every recruit reeked of, he didn’t have a personal agenda that encouraged him to seek the better good and keep the people safe. The reality is that he had joined just to please his grandmother’s dying wish. The woman had been the only parental figure in Flip’s life, stepping in when his own mother decided to take off with a trucker and drink the memories of having a child away.

His father had been a cop too, enlisting in the military when the first rumors of Vietnam arose. He was killed on what was supposed to be a simple scout mission, using his body to muffle a grenade that had been thrown at his company and thus saving more than 20 lives. Flip was 12.

So when his grandmother told him that there was nothing she desired more than to see him in a uniform like the one his father used to wear, he couldn’t say no. So fresh out of high school he had enrolled with no moralistic or noble dream, just with a set of descent values. His father was not like Flip, his father had cared.

He sometimes dared say that not caring made him a better detective, he just looked at the facts how they were, was professional in all environments, and simply never got emotionally attached to his cases. His judgement was never clouded.

Colorado Springs was facing a wave of insecurity that they had never seen before, a hazardous threat specially for young women. The term “serial killer” had just begun to take significance in the small town habitants’ heads and the growing pressure on the police department was justifiable.

Three lives had been taken at the hands of what the press was naming the “ _Wedding Killer_ ”. The title wasn’t given to him because he chose brides to be or because he murdered the women on their wedding night. He was named that way because of the staple that identified him as the culprit. All three of the victims had been found wearing a white dress and a veil above their faces, hiding their “something blue”, their lips, colored that way due to asphyxiation, his modus operandi.

Panic had covered Colorado Springs. No woman felt safe, since the killer didn’t have a type, something that stressed Flip to no end. Being the main detective on the investigation, he had crammed several books about serial killers, searching for anything that might grant him a lead. One of the first premises to catch a serial killer was identifying the similarities between his victims. Aside from his staple killing and set up, the three women had almost nothing alike.

Nora, Ruby and Sarah.

The first a teacher, the second a hairdresser, and the third a secretary. Ages 32, 24, and 27. Two with brown eyes, one with blue. A blonde, a red head and a brunette. Skin color varying as well. Different neighborhoods, different social classes. The only common ground was uncomplicated, they were all single, no boyfriend or husband to pin the murder on. 

He sat on top of a table in the briefing room, a makeshift workplace for this case, full of corkboards where evidence was pinned to provide visual aid. The crime scene was always clean of fingertips, there were no stray hairs or muddy footsteps, the killer would grasp the victim while they were sleeping. When they would wake up and feel the hands around their neck, it was already too late. Sometimes there was forced entry, sometimes there wasn’t. A true puzzle if one were to define one.

In spite of everything, Flip took his job very seriously, he had made a career out of it and practically all his life revolved around it. Besides, like the normal human being he was, he wished for women to stop appearing dead. A cigarette popped between his lips, promising a faithful relief he sought more often with each passing day.

“There’s someone here for you Zimmerman.” Ron’s voice disrupted his reverie. He was second in the investigation, and unlike Flip, one could see the emotional toll the case was having on his partner. He could see it on his walk and on his new everlasting grimace. Flip was sporting a couple of under eye bags, but those had haunted him well before the first kill.

“If it’s another fucking reporter you best believe imma kick your ass Stallworth.” Ever since the latest kill, local reporters had been camping outside the station trying to coax some words out of the lead detective on the Wedding Killer case. Some even went out of their way pretending they had some invented leads only to get inside the station and sneak a glance of any document or picture on display, overall infuriating Flip to no end.

“I don’t think she is.” Ron sounded serious enough for Flip to meet his gaze. His full lips were in a tight line and in his eyes he could swear he found a glimmer of hope. “She says she received a note.”

That made Flip really alert. He was proud that was a piece of information that, to his knowledge, hadn’t leaked to the press. Among the belongings of all the victims they had found a note, childishly put together with cut out letters from magazines and newspapers, the message simple, straightforward, the lyrics to a well know song.

**_Eleanor Rigby,_ **

**_Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,_ **

**_Lives in a dream…_ **

****

**_All the lonely people,_ **

**_Where do they all belong ________?_ **

In the blank space the name of the victim was filled. The song was an ode to loneliness, Eleanor Rigby maybe referencing a single woman, alone in life, alone in death, the wedding mention adding to the theatrics of the kill, the dream as in the eternal one forced on the victim whilst sleeping.

“Send her to one of the interrogation rooms, I’ll be there in a sec.” Releasing the smoke captured in his lungs, Flip glanced at the pictures of the victims. It was a weird feeling when each one of them showed up dead, their faces always triggered a little something inside Flip’s chest. They looked familiar, the kind of familiar that urges you to do a double take on a stranger because they have something that caught your attention. Colorado Springs was a small town, so he might’ve encountered these women in the past at least once.

Deciding not to think much of it anymore, he crashed the cigarette butt in the ashtray, standing up to his booming height and arranging his flannel from where it had bunched up at his holster. If what this woman was saying was true, he could prevent a tragedy from happening while also be on the right path to capturing this maniac.

The interrogation rooms were placed at the end of a dimly lit hallway, an intimidation technique for perpetrators. Walking the distance, Flip was gauging what personality he was going to use. More often as of lately, he had sticked with the intimidating routine, acting like the big bad cop who didn’t have time for any bullshit, spooking witnesses or suspects to say nothing but the truth. Something about this told him to play something else, maybe the serious but trustworthy character, the “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe” kind of cop. Even though he genuinely felt that way, it was something hard for him to convey. With another cigarette in his system, he might be able to pull it off. He wondered if Ron was standing behind the one-way glass. With a quick glance, he noticed the small area was void, it was just going to be him and this mystery woman.

When he finally willed himself to turn the knob of the small room, he couldn’t help it, his eyes forced him to do the double take. Sitting in one of the two metal chairs in the room was the most curious being he had ever seen. She was fumbling with her hands, visibly uncomfortable and lost in her own world to even notice his presence. Something caught inside his throat, he wasn’t sure what, but there was only one thing on his mind.

His previous rambling seemed pointless now, his pack probably having the same number of cigarettes at the end of this meeting, but she was really beautiful, strikingly so. She had a mixture of features that resembled the victims and at the same time made her completely different to them. Lost in a weird afterthought, he couldn’t deny that she looked like someone, no, not someone, an image, a piece of imagination, one that came into his mind on the rare occasion he thought about his dream woman.

Internally cursing the killer, he finally took a step inside. Her eyes lifted, their gazes meeting, a reluctant and shy half smile forming on her lips, one Flip was tempted to mirror. Neither of them dared to speak up, both seemingly lost in some kind of ridicule trance.

Laughter erupted outside the room, breaking whatever it was that had fallen over them. Gulping the lingering feeling he reminded himself of the reason behind all of this. Struggling to find his voice, he composed himself and ultimately spoke.

“Good evening, I’m Detective Zimmerman, pleasure to meet you.” His eyes would agree with him, it was indeed a pleasure. At least for now, since no one was there to warn the pair of what the future had in store for them.


	2. 2

It’s a second date. On the first they had gone to the theater to watch an intricate play, per his suggestion, which hadn’t given them the opportunity to really talk. She had felt a little inadequate that day, the political themes the actors portrayed felt above her education level, and for some reason, she felt that there were mayor historic references she wasn’t getting. She laughed when the rest of the audience did and at the end, said she had enjoyed herself very much.

She must’ve sold it quite well because he had called her two days later to invite her to a candlelight dinner in a very fancy restaurant, told her to wear “something nice”. She couldn’t handle her excitement at the prospect of being spoiled that way, as she rummaged her closet for hours to find the perfect dress. Michelin stars, a concept she became familiar with that night. Everything pointed towards a wonderful evening and the promise of something very good.

Then, he started speaking.

He had a corporate job, maybe finance or something of the sorts, “too complicated to explain to you” he had said. He talked about his car, a lot, about its horsepower, number of cylinders, and ignition times, “things you probably don’t understand” he had said. He made sure she listened when he not so smoothly mentioned his salary, “I could probably buy your Chevy with a month’s pay” he had said.

When he wasn’t talking about himself, everything seemed to bug him. He was mean to the hostess, mean to the waiters, and even though he wasn’t mean to her, he wasn’t patient. Each time she dared say something it was as if he was waiting up for his turn to speak again.

Flip had never been a patient man, his few and scattered friends could agree that it was his biggest flaw, but not in the way one is immediately deterred and offended. He didn’t like how bureaucracy made police work so slow, didn’t like how traffic could take up hours of his day, and didn’t like that in interrogations a lot of people took an eternity to start talking. So when the woman said her name and age rushed and unprompted, he smiled internally. If things remained that way, the questioning would run smoothly.

Against his better judgement, he decided he was not going to play any character, he was just going to be himself. He did so in hopes that he could portray safety for the visibly frightened woman before him, something telling him she would be able to see right through his façade otherwise. He also noted the way one of her legs was fidgeting and her fumbling with her nails underneath the table. 

She was nervous.

Before he could begin with the initial procedural questions, she spoke again. “I’ve seen you on TV.” Her head tilted as she examined him attentively, her eyes a little wide, following his movements as he took a seat right in front of her. “You are skinnier in real life.” That had Flip baffled for a second, but she continued, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you still look built like a tree, but-um… _fuck_ , sorry. Forget it.” Her eyes moved away from him, and her expression shifted as if she was internally scolding herself.

Her attitude was a little off, but Flip let out a low chuckle nonetheless, genuinely amused by the creature in front of him, and in all honesty, feeling a little flustered himself thanks to her compliment. “You know what they say, the camera adds ten pounds.” Maybe if he kept this light dynamic, she would feel more comfortable.

She gave him a close mouthed, tight smile and nodded, as if she was determined to not further embarrass herself, which she hadn’t. At least on Flip’s eyes. Returning to his task, he began. “I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?”

Inhaling a quick breath, she licked her lips before saying “Yes.” The motion was an involuntary reflex, maybe a force of habit, nothing that could possibly justify the tingling sensation he was feeling on his crotch as he unconsciously paid more attention to her pretty mouth.

No. He wasn’t going there.

“What is it you do for a living?” He shifted a little in his seat, totally playing it cool in his head.

“I work at the diner on Maple Street, I’m a waitress.” He liked the tone of her voice, mellow and smooth, not too high nor too low, exactly the voice one would want greeting you if it was one of those nights where you find yourself entering a diner. He noted the trembling undertones though.

“And where do you live?” The rhythm they had going on was good, one that could get Flip the information that he wanted as well as indulge him into watching the way her lips moved with every word she uttered. The question stirred something in her, maybe Flip was staring at her too intensely, maybe he was being too intimidating. 

“Um, on West View…” She didn’t look at him, opting to stare at the horrible wallpaper. It was the telltale sign of someone lying, but the nature of her answer made him consider otherwise.

“That’s an awful neighborhood.” He said the words to himself, thinking out loud at its finest, and not really considering the effect they might have. He grabbed his notebook and scribbled down some of the new information, immediately feeling defeat as she didn’t hold any coincidences with the rest of the victims. A waitress… What was next? A housewife? A convenience store clerk?

“It’s all I can manage.” His attention darted back to her, the tone changing. Her words were muttered under gritted teeth, and that’s when Flip knew he had fucked up. Her demeanor shifted a little bit, from a frightened kitten to a defiant one. West View was one of the shittiest parts of town, drug dealers covered the parks, prostitutes walked the sidewalks at nights, a well-known haven of crime, which is why rents there were the cheapest one could find.

“Shit, look I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.” Plain simple dismissal. The mellowness was almost completely gone, but Flip could see tendrils of understanding in her expression. Had he misjudged her? She had been the ideal cooperative interrogee up until now, a little coy but cooperative. Now, Flip could see the way her trust was slipping away from his fingers.

“Let’s talk about the note, shall we?” He desperately needed to get more information out of her before she decided to complete close up. Deciding to lay off on her personal information for the time being, he returned to the basics, noting on the way her leg started fidgeting again. 

“Yes.” If she hadn’t been so captivating, Flip would’ve tolerated her new attitude. “It was slipped under my door during the night I think. Didn’t really hear or saw anything.” He detected an accent on her, maybe Boston, but definitely not Colorado. He knew he was going to have to gather more information about her, because as of right now, she personified the puzzle that haunted him. A sly thought seeped through with a shard of guilt accompanying it, he wondered if he was crossing the line of having a personal interest on her.

No. Flip never cared, it was just the case. Just the case.

Her body moved on Flip’s peripherals, as she reached for her duffle bag and took out the important piece of paper. “I had a Beatles faze in my teens, but the song choice and with everything that’s been going on, it just felt… odd?” He made sure not to touch it to run it for fingertips later, even though he knew it would come out like the rest, completely clean. But there it was, a near identical copy of the other notes, just underneath his nose.

It was tricky business. The note on itself didn’t explicitly pose some kind of threat, it was just the lyrics of a song, so Flip could understand why the other victims never brought it up before their imminent demise. He was grateful for the lead, but suspicious either way, it was way too fortuitous. He couldn’t let a pair of beautiful eyes and a mysterious nature cloud his judgement. He needed to remain objective, and get his answers soon, he was not the only man in the department getting impatient.

Thinking about the inevitable briefing he was going to have to give to the Captain, he decided to cover all bases. “What made you think the note was related to this investigation?” Flip knew his tone was accusatory, hinting at a possible implication of the sorts. It was probably not the best strategy after calling her out on where she lived, but his normal indifferent temperament surfaced without him consciously bringing it forward. 

“I just told you.” Her brows furrowed, clear disbelief in her expression. The energy in the room was suddenly sharp, and for the second time in less than 15 minutes, he knew he had fucked up.

“You know what? I’m sorry for wasting your precious time, Detective Zimmerman.” He didn’t miss the condescending tone when she muttered his title. The screech of the chair’s legs hurt Flip’s eardrums as she abruptly stood up and gathered her bag. “I called the fucking hot-line you blast on TV every fucking day just to report it, and next thing I know I’m being dragged into this room!”

Flip was just sitting there, his eyes a little wide honestly, she was definitely not the shy delicate woman he had initially thought her to be. She was using her hands to express herself, effectively masking her nervousness with anger. Flip just sat there and took it, expecting her to cool down and take a seat again.

But of course she didn’t do that.

“Now if you excuse me, I have a shift to get to.” He would admit it was not his finest interrogation, but he was sure as hell was not letting her go that easy. She stepped out the room in a rush, Flip tailing her soon after. Hurrying to grab his things from his desk, he exited the police station, and just like he had suspected with the little to nothing information she had given him, she was standing right at the bus stop.

This time, Flip wholeheartedly smiled as he saw her cursing to herself while she tried to light up a cigarette between those plush lips. He always did enjoy a challenge. Tossing his stuff inside his truck and slamming the brakes just in front of the stop, he whistled to grab her attention.

Her eyes shot up before she visibly rolled them.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” He was tempted to laugh when he saw her scoff, but after she gave a few glances to road and saw no clear sign of the bus arriving anytime soon, she begrudgingly reached for the passenger door. Slumping inside, she placed her bag in the space between them, as a sort of invisible barrier and sign that she was not happy to be there.

As if her attitude wasn’t enough.

If any other person started to act that way around Flip, he would surely be ruthless right now, probably throwing a couple of curses in the mix and overall feeling his mood go to a dark place as it usually did when dealing with criminals. But something about her… It was kind of endearing. He saw her cross her arms, which followed an internal scolding on his part as his eyes unconsciously darted to her chest. Clearing his throat, he focused on the road. 

“You have a short fuse, you know? Any other detective would’ve just held you there for that little outburst.” Reaching into one of his pockets, he took out his lighter and handed it to her. “Even if you came willingly, they can keep you for 24 hours, it’s the law.” Her fingers enclosed around the lighter, and for the briefest of seconds, Flip felt a little chill cross his limb. Must’ve been the crisp Colorado Springs air.

Only after her cigarette was lit and she had taken her first drag did she speak. “Am I supposed to thank you?” She wasn’t facing him, and Flip could tell she wouldn’t for the rest of the ride. Who would’ve thought that the next potential victim would be such a brat, not that Flip would allow for her to become a victim anyway.

“You know, I excused your behavior because I thought you were shy. Since clearly you are not, then tell me, why were you so nervous?” He needed to stop letting his mind drift off to other places and focus, but he couldn’t scratch the itch that something other than her particular situation was bothering her in the interrogation room.

“I don’t like police stations.” There was no bite, no huff, just emotionless words coming out of her mouth, probably a well-rehearsed line in her life.

“Why?” He was met with nothing but silence. There was a story there that he would most likely uncover, but as of right now, he was okay with giving her some space. Lighting up a cigarette for himself, he looked forward.

“Turn left here.” was the only thing she said for the rest of the ride. In the distance, the neon lights of the diner greeted them, and Flip could almost feel the relief entering her body.

He thought about his strategy as he parked the truck near the entrance. The circumstances were calling for some field work, maybe that was what he needed to crack this case, even it meant following her around for a while. One thing was for certain, she couldn’t be left alone, not with a killer walking around loose with an eye on her.

He removed the key from the ignition, turning the engine off and tapping his body to double check he had his gun on him. “What are you doing?” She was already out the truck, forcefully gripping her bag as she eyed him a little bewildered. 

“I’m feeling a little hungry, and I heard the service here was amazing.” He couldn’t help the smirk that covered his features when he saw her surprise turned into a frown. Barely below the limit of a stomp, she turned from him and made her way inside.

He followed her movements as she greeted the people behind the counter, sitting in one of the booths at the back of the establishment. It was a quaint little place, honestly somewhere Flip could picture himself going frequently if the sandwich shop near the station didn’t make his order to perfection by this point.

Entering his detective mode, he started scanning the crowds. He could see some truckers drinking probably their fourth cup of coffee, some high school kids whose parents maybe didn’t care to cook dinner for them, and one or two men who were about to enter an afternoon shift. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

“You are going to have to order something to stay here.” His eyes flicked towards the woman standing right in front of him. She had changed into a uniform that had taken Flip by surprise. A loose skirt over the knee that flared as she put a hand on her hip, a collared shirt that effectively concealed her cleavage but was teasing nonetheless, and an apron who had obviously seen better days. Inhaling a harsh breath, he quickly looked at her face again, only to see her rolling those eyes one more time.

Oh… how he would enjoy punishing her for that.

No. No. No. What the hell was going on with him? He suddenly was feeling like that lanky teen who couldn’t keep his eyes off girls all over again. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t really approach her as one of the girls he encountered on bars that justified the urgent lust he was feeling for her. How long had it been since he had been with someone?

No, not going there, he thought to himself. 

Clearing his throat for what felt like the 20th time that day, he spoke. “Do you have a phone I can use?” Without a word, she pointed to a landline bolted to the wall and sauntered towards one of the tables that was calling for her attention.

He dialed with embarrassingly clammy fingers. The line beeped steadily as he held the device with force. Another sound stimulated his ears and broke his concentration as he quickly looked at the source.

Her head was little thrown back, her teeth bared, and a hand that wasn’t holding a coffee pot was resting over her belly. He liked it more than he should’ve, more than what was permitted in the situation they were in, the sound of her laugh, like sharp inhales full of placidness that was undoubtedly contagious even though she was talking to one of the patrons. 

He thought he was grasping the killer’s line of thinking a little bit more. Maybe it was this that lured the monster, looking at a woman like this, so unaware of her magnet effect, so unconsciously infatuating, so, so…

 _“Hello? Who is this?”_ Ron’s voice took him out of his reverie, a grounding effect casted upon him. His eyes moved towards nothingness, anything other than her.

“Hey Ron, it’s Flip. Do me a favor will ya? Go into the records room and get me everything you can find on the girl.”


End file.
